


Nothing Matters Now

by aussiebee



Category: Christian Bible
Genre: Bible Kink, Bible porn, Biblical Scripture References (Abrahamic Religions), Biblical Themes (Abrahamic Religions), Blasphemy, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, M/M, What Have I Done, kind of?, so much blasphemy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-02-01 04:34:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21379045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aussiebee/pseuds/aussiebee
Summary: A young priest receives a late night visitor.Let the sin begin.
Relationships: Michael (Archangel)/OMC
Comments: 27
Kudos: 33





	Nothing Matters Now

**Author's Note:**

> **If you are in any way offended by anything involving the Bible/religion/scripture that isn't the actual Bible itself, then _boy howdy_ do I recommend you stay far the hell away from this one.**

I consider myself to be quite liberal. I believe in equality for women. I believe there is a spectrum of sexually and that it's not a choice. I believe that all of us were created in God's image and that He loves us as we are, irrespective of our sins.

But I also know that I am damned.

I'm a priest, you see, and I thought there was nothing on this earth I could love more than our Lord.

But then Michael appeared before me, and my base humanity cast us down.

* * *

Father Christopher O’Day woke in the night, panting and aroused. Casting off his blanket he sighed and sat up to swing his legs over the side of his bed, waiting for his heart rate to slow as he listened to the sound of rain pounding down on the roof.

He wondered if the dreams that were plaguing him were punishment for something, but cast that thought away and sighed again as he shoved his hand distractedly through his sweat-dampened blond hair. A lingering soreness made itself known in his scalp, but he disregarded it as a lingering sense-memory from his dream and got up to wash his face in some cool water.

“Taking blasphemy to a whole new level,” he told his reflection in a voice made hoarse from crying out. He studied his own dark blue eyes, noting the bloodshot cobwebbing and the purplish bags beneath and knew something was going to have to give. There was no way this could continue.

A nagging ache on his right shoulder blade had a vivid memory of his dream flashing through his mind, almost bringing him to his knees with its clarity and force.

_ The body at his back pressing him to the wall was a burning counterpoint to the cool plaster beneath his cheek. He gasped as large hands tightly gripped his hips and the hard rod of a bare cock slipped between the cheeks of his ass, just resting. For the moment. _

_ “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart,” a voice rumbled in his ear, lips caressing the lobe and sending goosebumps skating across his skin, “and lean not unto thine own understanding.” _

_ The hands on his hips tightened and held Christopher tight as the man behind him began to thrust shallowly against him, again and again, the head of his cock dragging over Christopher’s own hole and making him inhale sharply with every pass. He felt his nipples tighten to hard pebbles and found himself involuntarily arching his back and canting his ass up higher to try and get the thick cock exactly where he barely realised he wanted it. _

_ “And of his fulness have all we received, and grace for grace.” _

_ The voice was redolent with power and Christopher shivered, sobbing out a breath as a large hand slid forward and curled almost curiously around his cock. His head dropped forward against the wall and he felt teeth on the back of his neck, nipping, only to be soothed by long, broad strips of the other man’s tongue. _

_ As the hand on his cock slowly began to move, and the other joined it to carefully roll his balls in a maddening arrhythm, he groaned, long and low. “Why are you doing this?” he asked, his nails digging into the plaster and his back arching even further, to the point of discomfort. _

_ “To bind his princes at his pleasure; and teach his senators wisdom.” _

_ Christopher was losing all ability to concentrate as the hand continued its sweet torture, and he felt his orgasm building, helpless against the onslaught. _

_ “I’m just a priest,” he sobbed desperately as the cock behind him halted its slide and began to press insistently against his hungry hole. “I’m not a prince, or a senator; I’m simply a humble priest.” _

_ “He is my shepherd, and shall perform all my pleasure.” _

_ With that tantalising hint, Christopher found himself pressed flat to the wall, all movement of the body behind him stopping. “Your name,” he groaned desperately. “Who are you? Please, give me your name.” _

_ “You know who I am,” the other man growled, the first words of non-verse Christopher heard him utter. _

_ “No,” he tried to deny feebly as the insistent press of the thick head threatened to breach his anus. “I don’t know you.” _

_ “Speak my name,” the other man told him, his tone commanding. “Speak, and be saved.” _

_ And as the enormous cock finally breached him, sliding in as deep as it could go while the other man sank teeth deep into the muscle overlying his shoulder blade, Christopher threw back his head and howled the name he felt deep within his bones, tearing him apart. _

_ “MICHAEL!” _

Christopher’s cock jerked at the memory of the dream and he shrugged his shoulders distractedly, but the dull ache remained. He turned to check his back in the mirror, and froze in horror.

For there, standing vividly red against the smooth, pale skin of his shoulder blade were two semicircles that were beginning to bruise: a bite.

“That’s not possible,” he murmured brokenly, staring at the proof that indicated otherwise. A flash of lightning through the small bathroom window threw his terrified expression into sharp relief, and the crack of thunder was almost instantaneous and sounded as though it came from directly overhead.

A loud thumping at his front door made him stumble away from the mirror and out of the small room, clipping his shoulder on the doorframe as went. Greatly disturbed, he shrugged into a robe and made his way through his small house to the front door. It wasn’t uncommon for his parishioners to seek his help or counsel at odd hours, but three a.m. was, admittedly, less than common.

“Hold on,” he muttered distractedly to himself, the dream still foremost in his mind. He managed to arrange an expression resembling calm on his face and pulled open the door, only to freeze in mute horror when he saw his visitor.

“Good evening, Christopher.” The voice was exactly as he remembered: deep, rough, and so charged with erotic power that Chris felt his cock harden again, despite himself. The beautiful man standing on his doorstep quirked a smiled and tilted his head a little. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“How are-? What? Who are you?” he demanded breathlessly.

“Speak my name,” the visitor told him with a wry grin.

“No,” Christopher breathed in response. “No. How is that even possible?”

It was him; the man from his dreams. From the longish dark hair to the piercing green eyes, impossibly broad shoulders and muscular everything, it was him. Chris shook his head and took two abortive steps back from the door, which the other man took as invitation, crossing the threshold and closing the door behind him.

“I am here for you, Christopher. The ‘how’ of it is immaterial, but my appearance in your dreams has seemed to indicate that you would not be averse to welcoming me.”

“I…” Christopher broke off and stared, the pull he could feel making his stomach flip over, again and again. “You’re-”

The visitor nodded slowly, encouragingly. “Go on.”

“You’re… you’re a…”

“Just say it, Christopher, so we can move on.”

“You’re an angel.”

The smile Christopher was rewarded with was blazingly bright. “That’s right. An archangel, technically, given your understanding of our hierarchy.”

“You’re Michael.  _ The _ Michael.”

“I am.” Christopher felt his knees weaken and he longed to sink to them, but Michael spoke. “I don’t require that of you, Father. At least, not in supplication.”

The suggestion in that statement made Christopher flush. “It’s a sin,” he blurted, desperate to make sense of the situation he found himself in.

“I would welcome to opportunity to debate the utter wrongness of your fellow man’s interpretation of the Lord’s Word, but I’m afraid I have not the time to spare. My purpose here tonight is singlefold, and I have many duties to which I must soon return.”

“What do you want from me?”

Those electric green eyes glittered with dark humour. “You summoned me with your dream, Christopher,” Michael told him. “Once I figured out what it was that you were desirous of I was certainly willing to engage with you, but it was the strength of your desires that called my attention.” He circled Michael slowly, his steps almost inaudible over the sound of rain drumming down on the roof. “So I suppose the question becomes not what do I want, but what do  _ you _ want?”

Christopher stared at the other man - archangel - as he came to stand before him. “I must be dreaming,” he said quietly, his protest sounding weak to his own ears.

“You have a deplorable amount of faith,” Michael chastised gently, then abruptly ran a hand down his own chest and his clothes just… disappeared.

A wordless exclamation escaped him and Christopher tried to take a step back but Michael’s hand gripped his suddenly-bare shoulder and held him firmly in place. “I will take nothing from you without your consent, Son Of Adam, but I can feel what you are feeling and I know how aroused you are.” The taller man stepped closer until they were practically chest-to-chest. “I can hear how fast your heart is racing,” he murmured, his eyes darting across the priest’s face. “I can feel how weak your legs are, and how confused your thoughts. The ache you feel in the pit of your stomach inflames that within me, and-”

It was too much for Christopher and his terror and overwhelming arousal had him wrapping one terrified hand around the back of Michael’s neck and drawing his face down, breath snatched from his lungs by the ferocity of the archangel’s mouth on his.

It was like being engulfed by a lightning storm. Michael was demanding, shockingly and almost brutally passionate, his hands roaming everywhere and inflaming every nerve ending Christopher had. Only vaguely registering that they were moving, he suddenly became aware of the back of his legs hitting something, and he was gently lowered onto the bed as Michael stood over him, illuminated only by the streetlight streaming in from the window and the increasingly frequent lightning.

The man is practically a god, Christopher thought dazedly as he leaned up on his elbows and his eyes greedily devoured the impressive musculature, flushing as the archangel smiled wryly. “I’m sorry,” he apologised anxiously, “I didn’t mean any disrespect, or to imply-”

“I know, priest,” Michael told him easily. “I am glad my earthly form pleases you.” Then, right before Christopher without any self-consciousness whatsoever, he took his truly impressive cock in hand and stroked it slowly, and Christopher was unable to look away. “There is not much I don’t know, Christopher,” Michael told him, his voice a promise. “Will you let me show you what I know? Will you let me show you the glory of God and the gift He gave you in creating such a responsive and receptive form?”

“Yes,” Christopher breathed out, and collapsed back onto the bed.

Michael straddled his thighs and braced his hands on either side of Christopher’s head to lean down and kiss him senseless. He gradually lowered his body until he was lying on top of the priest, their bodies pressed together from chest to groin.

Without conscious thought, Christopher wrapped his legs around Michael’s hips, involuntarily bringing their cocks into contact and making the archangel hiss as he bit at the priest’s lower lip. “Tell me what you want,” he murmured. “Tell me exactly what you want from me.”

“I-I can’t-”

“You can. You must.” The order was punctuated with a sharp roll of his hips.

“You!” Christopher exclaimed, barely able to breathe he was so suffused with lust. “You, Michael, please- I want the dream, want you inside of me, around me, everywhere, please!”

“Yes,” Michael breathed, and shifted a little to press sucking kisses to the man’s jaw and throat, deliberately scraping his teeth against skin to elicit a full-body shiver. “I want that too, Christopher. The dream you had was just enough to make me hungry for more.” He shifted again until he was sucking lightly on the skin of Christopher’s chest, agile tongue flicking over hypersensitive nipples. “The way you felt wrapped around my cock, the heat of your body surrounding me. I confess to wanting to experience that again. Is that confession one you’re likely to hear in your church, priest?”

“I hope not,” Christopher groaned, arching his back and clawing his fingers in Michael’s hair. “But hearing it from you has probably ruined Confession for me.” A rich chuckle from the vicinity of his navel made him look down at the dark head in his hands. “Why me?” he asked suddenly, and was somewhat gratified when Michael paused to rest his chin on his hipbone and regard him with solemn eyes.

“Because you needed me.”

They stared at each other in the barely-lit room for a moment. “Why?”

“Because you feel something is missing. I can be that. At least for tonight.”

“And after tonight?”

“I don’t have all the answers; I’m not my Father.”

Oddly enough, that one little concession to fallibility relaxed Christopher more than all the assurances in the world. “Well,” he began slowly, “if tonight is all I have, I would like to make the most of it.”

The smile that crossed the archangel’s face was slow and hot, and Christopher felt his cock twitch in anticipation. “Alright.”

A large, firm hand wrapped around him and Christopher sighed into the touch, his head dropping back onto the bed as his hips jerked up involuntarily beneath the touch. He had vague memories of his own hand doing this as a child, but unlike his childhood, there was a lack of guilt that was shocking in its absence. He knew there was an existential crisis coming in the not-too-distant future, but for now he was rendered almost stupid with the overwhelming sensations washing over his body.

“What must I do to help you switch off that racing brain of yours, I wonder?”

Christopher was about to respond when Michael slid his mouth over the head of his cock, driving all coherent thought from his mind. He was lost to the pleasure that scorching, talented mouth was providing, cheeks hollowing as he applied the most exquisite suction. He realised he was babbling incoherently under his breath, but was helpless to stop himself. He slid his hands into Michael’s hair again and tugged gently, feeling a peculiar pressure beginning to build.

“I don’t think you should keep doing that,” he warned breathlessly.

The only response was a tongue flicking his slit and a hand rolling and gently tugging his balls in encouragement. It was sensational, overwhelming, and even though it felt like something was coming, it also felt like something was missing. He could barely comprehend the sensations, though, let alone articulate the shapeless need he clutched at.

Michael seemed to know, though. He lapped gently at the head, then up and down the shaft, pausing to suck experimentally here and there, noting which parts elicited the most twitches, the breathiest responses. He cupped his lips around just the head and sucked hard, anticipating the buck of Christopher’s hips up into his mouth and using that momentum to swallow him down completely, nose touching the downy hair at the base. He stayed there for a moment, letting the priest feel him swallow around his cock before coming back up.

He moved a hand up along the shaft, starting a rhythm as his other hand drifted downwards and circled the tight little hole. “Is this what you want, Christopher?” Michael asked, pulling off and looking up at the stunned blond. “Do you want my fingers? Or do you want this?” His tongue swept a hot line along the cleft of Christopher’s ass, then swirled around the entrance, making the man groan loudly. “What do you want, my tongue or my finger?”

Christopher wasn’t sure which way to move his hips: upwards into Michael’s still-stroking fist, or downward onto his tongue. The sensations were so intense everywhere. “Both. I want both.”

Michael grinned, and did as he was bid. He made a seal around the priest’s entrance and sucked, his tongue lapping at the hole. When Christopher cried out he did it harder, darting his tongue just inside, taking every sound as his due. He moaned loudly, letting the sound reverberate through Christopher’s ass, making him jerk his hips downward.

“More Michael, please. I need more.”

The archangel pulled his tongue out slowly, licking all the way up Christopher’s balls, pausing for a moment to take each one into his mouth, sucking gently, then moving upwards and sucking down hard on his cock. His other hand moved to Christopher’s already slick entrance and he pushed one finger in slowly.

Christopher moaned loudly and pushed his hips down, taking Michael’s finger in all the way. “More.” Michael added a second finger, then a third, scissoring him open while his other hand and his mouth kept up a steady rhythm on his cock. He was looking up at the priest through his lashes, admiring how wrecked the blue-eyed man of faith looked.

“More.  _ More. _ ”

Michael pulled off his cock with a slick pop, his hand still working lazily. “Why don’t you show me what it is, exactly, that you need. No need to be gentle, priest- I am a warrior of God.”

That was all the invitation Christopher needed. He renewed his grip in the archangel’s thick dark hair and began tugging on his head to establish what must have been a punishing rhythm, not that Michael faltered. Emboldened by the endorphin rush, or perhaps just the sheer magnitude of his  _ face-fucking an angel of the Lord _ , he lowered one hand to trace the seal of Michael’s lips around his cock. “Michael, I would like to come in your mouth, and then I want you to fuck me.”

Michael groaned an assent around Christopher and worked his fingers in and out of the tight hole, making sure to drag his fingertips across the priest’s prostate every time.

Christopher gripped Michael’s hair tightly and experimentally snapped his hips upward. The angel’s mouth went slack, letting Christopher fuck his mouth and down his throat. He could feel the head hitting the back of his throat and swallowed, pulling the leaking length in deeper. He seemed entirely focussed on making Christopher feel good, and so he timed the movement of his fingers with the thrusting and very soon felt Christopher grow harder and his balls tighten up. He knew the priest was going to come soon. His fingers stayed on Christopher’s prostate, pressing down on the textured surface, and suddenly with a wordless cry Michael’s mouth was being filled. 

He helped Christopher ride through the orgasm before pulling his fingers out. With unerring accuracy Michael rolled off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom, reappearing with a bottle of bath oil, unopened, that he had received as part of a relaxation package from a parishioner.

He found Christopher lying on the bed in the same position he had left him, a blissful expression on his face and his skin glistening in the minimal light with a sheen of sweat. “You are the very definition of temptation,” he said lightly, climbing back onto the bed and between Christopher’s thighs. “I would like to fuck you now, as per your request. Is that still what you want?”

“Absolutely,” Christopher breathed. “It may kill me, but I would be content if that were the case, I think.”

Michael grinned wryly and maneuvered a very compliant Christopher so that his bent knees were hooked over Michael’s thighs where he knelt back on his heels. He took a moment to admire the sight before him: the young priest spent and replete, spread-eagle across Michael’s lap with his hair dishevelled and a slightly stunned expression on his face.

It wasn’t the first time he had been granted the time to dally on Earth like this, but it was the first time he had been so fixated on doing the job so thoroughly to the satisfaction of his partner. Christopher had been refreshingly fast to convince of his divinity, though he wasn’t sure the priest believed it entirely. His receptiveness to a liaison he had been brought up to believe was sinful had been surprising, and his responsiveness was gratifying. He was already planning his next visit to repeat the experience.

“Are you ready?”

Christopher swallowed hard and nodded, staring up at the angel. “Do you need me to…?”

“No,” Michael told him gently, opening the cap of the bottle of oil and pouring a generous amount into his hand. “You are perfect, just where you are.” He slicked up his own cock, lined himself up and slowly pushed in, his eyes fixed firmly on Christopher’s the entire time. Michael groaned as the priest’s heat surrounded him, and he pushed in another experimental inch, watching Christopher’s face intently for any sign of hurt or discomfort. There was none; his head was thrown back, mouth hanging open with breathy whimpers escaping.

Christopher was breathless with being split open, the sharp ache radiating up his spine even as little shocks of pleasure followed them. He took a moment to grow accustomed to being so completely filled and pushed down, pulling Michael in until he was bottomed out. The archangel leaned forward and rested his forehead against Christopher’s, letting the man adjust. He brushed their mouths together, nibbling at the priest’s bottom lip. “Tell me when I can move; tell me when it feels good.”

Christopher groaned, his eyes closed and the tendons standing taut along his throat as his head pressed back into the pillow, and nodded. “It feels good. God help me, it feels so good.”

Michael pulled back an inch then pushed in again. “You are so tight, priest, so good around me.” He pulled back again slowly, pushing in even more gently, taking a long time before he set a pace he was sure wouldn’t hurt Christopher.

What was supposed to be a hot and fast round two turned into a slow burn, building leisurely until they were both gleaming in perspiration. He felt and watched with great delight as Christopher grew hard again and trapped it between them, knowing the friction of their movement would be all he would need to come once more. He began undulating his hips in a way that was sure to drag the head of his cock over the priest’s prostate.

Christopher began to get a slightly wild look around his eyes, his chest jerking sharply as his breath began to hitch. Michael knew it was more panic than pleasure, perhaps from being overwhelmed by sensation, so he shifted his weight and took one of Christopher’s hands to lace their fingers together, and rested their foreheads together for a long moment until the priest’s breathing calmed and some of the tension left his body.

Their eyes met, held. Michael was startled by the emotion in them. It started a burning in his chest that spiraled lower and settled low in his belly, and he felt his cock twitch to an answering moan from Christopher as the jerk of it nailed that most sensitive spot inside of him. Michael smiled and captured the man’s mouth in a brutal kiss, tongues sliding together and breath shared.

Gradually their pace quickened and Michael dropped his head to rest in the crook of Christopher’s neck. He kissed him softly there, whispering  _ Christopher _ over and over like a prayer; benediction. In response, Christopher’s free hand suddenly grabbed at Michael’s shoulder as he gasped out, “Michael. Oh, God, I’m close.”

Michael kissed him again, thrusting a little harder, a little faster. “I’ve got you, priest. Let go. Let me come with you.” Then Michael felt warmth spilling out between them as Christopher gave a little sigh. He swallowed the sigh with a kiss and found his own release, going still as the priest clenched around him.

Michael had been to Heaven. This was better.

They lay together, the sweat cooling on their skin and their breathing slowing. Michael moved to withdraw from Christopher’s body, but the man clutched convulsively at his back and held him in place.

“Please,” he murmured softly, sleepily. “Just a moment more.”

Michael pressed a kiss to his forehead, then each eyelid. “I can stay a little longer, I think. Now sleep.”

* * *

When I awoke the morning after, Michael was gone. My body ached all over, and with the state I was in, there was absolutely no doubt in my mind that the encounter had been real. I spent the next few weeks wondering why I had been chosen by Michael, as well as how what we had done could possibly be condoned in the eyes of God.

Everything I knew and had been taught told me that we had sinned, but how could an angel - an  _ archangel _ \- debase himself with a homosexual encounter and remain untainted?

And again: why me?

I had nothing. I had no possible explanation for the tryst, but I was lying to myself when I pretended I wasn’t desperately hoping to somehow, someday, encounter Michael again.

It’s been a few months since that night, and I guess it’s the storm raging tonight and the dreams I’ve been having of late that have made me maudlin and introspective. My life has changed irreparably since then, and I sometimes find myself questioning my faith. I struggle every day with an inescapable desire that had been awoken within me, and I haven’t had a solid night’s sleep since. My parishioners have noted the changes within me, and I can sense the whispers that follow my sermons.

I feel lost; adrift. It won’t take much to find my path again, I’m sure, but I just… don’t want to. I want Michael again. I want to run my hands over his body, I want to feel his cock within me, the hot splash of his come painting me inside, the taste of his tongue on mine. I want to fall to my knees in supplication and worship him with my mouth, I want to hear him cry my name the way I cry his when I awake in the night hard and ach-

There’s a knock at my door.

I move without thought, thunder rumbling overhead.

It can’t be.

I open the door.

It is.

“Hello, Christopher."

_ Michael. _

**Author's Note:**

> So. That just happened. Don't know what to tell you guys; but if I was going to hell anyway, at least now I've guaranteed myself a seat on the throne.
> 
> Title from Franz Ferdinand's _Michael._


End file.
